Kokoro sat alone near the back of the parfait shop, slouched in the corner booth with one elbow propped against the window and the other hand stirring the remnants of his half-melted parfait. The spoon clinked idly against the glass bowl, a rhythmic echo of boredom. The bustling shop buzzed around him—customers chatting, parfait glasses clinking, the soft whir of the ice cream mixer behind the counter—but Kokoro's mind had long detached from it all.
He let out a low sigh, glancing once more at the entrance. The doorbell jingled as another group entered. Kokoro, stirred by instinct, looked toward the sound, eyes faintly glimmering with hope. Maybe, finally, it was them.
And it was.
Sakura and Naomi had finally arrived.
Kokoro straightened subtly in his seat and sighed—not dramatically, but with honest relief. It had been over forty-five minutes since Sakura's message, and he'd nearly dozed off twice.
